We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

KING.

I say they shall not come.

PRINCESS.

Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now.
That sport best pleases that doth least know how;
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of those which it presents;
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
When great things labouring perish in their birth.

Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet
breath as will utter a brace of words.

[Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper to him.]

PRINCESS.

Doth this man serve God?

BEROWNE.

Why ask you?

PRINCESS.

He speaks not like a man of God his making.

ARMADO.

That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I
protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too-too vain,
too-too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la
guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!

[Exit.]

KING.

Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents
Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate,
Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus:
And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits and present the other five.

BEROWNE.

There is five in the first show.

KING.

You are deceived, 'tis not so.

BEROWNE.

The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and
the boy:--
Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

KING.

The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

[Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY.]

COSTARD.

'I Pompey am'--

BEROWNE.

You lie, you are not he.

COSTARD.

'I Pompey am'--

BOYET.

With libbard's head on knee.

BEROWNE.

Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

COSTARD.

'I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big'--

DUMAINE.

'The Great.'

COSTARD.

It is 'Great,' sir; 'Pompey surnam'd the Great,
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to
sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.
If your ladyship would say 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done.

PRINCESS.

Great thanks, great Pompey.

COSTARD.

'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect.
I made a little fault in 'Great.'

[To Sir Nathaniel.] O! sir, you have overthrown Alisander
the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for
this; your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a
close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy.
A conqueror, and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander.
[Nathaniel retires.] There, an't shall please you: a foolish mild
man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed! He is a marvellous
good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for
Alisander,--alas! you see how 'tis--a little o'erparted. But
there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

PRINCESS.

Stand aside, good Pompey.

[Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for JUDAS; and MOTH armed, for
HERCULES.]

HOLOFERNES.

'Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.'
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.--[MOTH retires.]
'Judas I am.'--

Peace!
'The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd that certain he would fight ye,
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,'--

The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat
not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But
I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS.] Sweet royalty,
bestow on me the sense of hearing.

Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath; your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

KING.

The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed,
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progenyForbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

PRINCESS.

I understand you not: my griefs are double.

BEROWNE.

Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,--
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,--fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.

PRINCESS.

We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time;
But more devout than this in our respects
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:
If for my love,--as there is no such cause,--
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and nakedhermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about the annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood,
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love,
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts;
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mournful house,
Raining the tears of lamentationFor the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

KING.

If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

BEROWNE.

And what to me, my love? and what to me?

ROSALINE.

You must he purged too, your sins are rack'd;
You are attaint with faults and perjury;
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.

DUMAINE.

But what to me, my love? but what to me?

KATHARINE.

A wife! A beard, fair health, and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

DUMAINE.

O! shall I say I thank you, gentle wife?

KATHARINE.

No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say.
Come when the King doth to my lady come;
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And therewithal to win me, if you please,--
Without the which I am not to be won,--
You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to day,
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you and that fault withal;
But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

BEROWNE.

A twelvemonth! well, befall what will befall,
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

PRINCESS.

[To the King.] Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.

KING.

No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

BEROWNE.

Our wooing doth not end like an old play:
Jack hath not Jill; these ladies' courtesyMight well have made our sport a comedy.

KING.

Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
And then 'twill end.

BEROWNE.

That's too long for a play.

[Enter ARMADO.]

ARMADO.

Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me,--

PRINCESS.

Was not that not Hector?

DUMAINE.

The worthy knight of Troy.

ARMADO.

I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a
votary: I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her
sweet love three yeasr. But, most esteemed greatness, will you
hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in
praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the
end of our show.

KING.

Call them forth quickly; we will do so.

ARMADO.

Holla! approach.

[Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others.]

This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring; the one
maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.

SPRING
I.
When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then on every tree
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

II.
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

WINTER
III.
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl: Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who--a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

IV.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, to-who--a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

ARMADO.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
You that way: we this way.

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